| Comfortably Numb |

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by coarrrlll

by coarrrlll

887 Words
TW: Drugs, Mentions of Abuse
*Theo's POV*
I was huffing and choking on the cold midnight air that stabbed the back of my throat and filled my lungs. I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore, the sun setting over the desert hill.
The cement was ice against my bare feet, and I could feel blisters forming under my toes.
I finally fell into the doorway of a tall home, coughing up a storm.
"Potter!" A familiar Russian accent boomed from the stairs, racing to get to me. I felt a warm pair of arms pick me off the floor and set me on the steps. I buried my head in the dark brown sweater which cradled my shaking body.
I felt tears streaming down my face as I quivered and shook, unable to speak.
"Potter, what is happened?" He spoke in a concerned voice, lifting my face to examine the bruise which covered my cheek, and the cut lying on my brow. "Your father?"
"Xandra just stood there..." I shook. "I thought I could trust her..."
"Shhhhh" he hushed. "What happened."
I felt his deep voice shake my whole chest, like a booming bass blasting in an automobile.
"He hit me."
——
"Call this number, and say that I'm sending you to a private school."
"W-what?"
"Tell them I need $65,000 for your schooling, and tell them to send it to this account."
"Dad?"
-
*Slap*
"...STOP crying like a baby..."
-
"...I'm sorry, we can only send the money directly to your school of choice..."
-
"...God DAMNIT!..."
——
Though my memory was hazy and I couldn't think through the wave of tears, I still could feel the phantom hand on my cheek, and the prominent sting coming in waves.
I felt the boy go to move, "come on, Potter."
I looked up, taking his hand which was extended out towards me, "thanks, Boris."
We walked up to his room and watched some old vintage movies on VHS from the 40's on the deepest TV known to man.
The screen was black and white, but all I could see was red.
It felt wrong to stare, at the half naked boy laying next to me, to stare at my best friend and imagine what it would be like to be that pack of camels which he loves so much, or to be his drug, to be his addiction.
I felt myself begin to burn, I felt myself begin to cringe, I'm not gay. I am not gay.
What about Pippa?
What about Pippa?
He lay there, a beer in hand, a cigarette in the other. He would take a swig, and then take a huff, and repeat. I stared at his cheeks as they would suck in when he would puff his cig, and watch his head bob back, when he would drink.
It felt comforting to know he was there, to know that he understood what it was like to be hated, to not be wanted, to not belong.
My mind was taken off my bloodied brow and bruised cheek, and instead focused on the camels on the nightstand and the ashtray that lay between us.
I put my joint out and rolled over, I stared at the boy as I lay on my side, his eyes not moving from the screen.
He soon reached his hand out to turn off the lights, as the movie played quietly in the background. His laugh echoed in the mostly empty bedroom. A loud "Hah!" every time a soldier was blown to bits, or a bar fight would leave the big tough guy lying on the ground. And a "goddamnnn," every time a smokin' babe would come onscreen.
His mannerisms became a pattern, I could predict his every movement of his, every twitch and blink, and it was soothing. The repetition of swig, puff, swig, puff. However, I could never have predicted this next movement of his.
I felt a warm, bare arm wrap around me and pull me close, "you're shaking, Potter."
My face glowed a bright red as his bare chest became my pillow.
He pulled the blanket further over my arms and began to rub my shoulder, to create fiction. I suddenly felt comfortable.
Something about this was... right.
I began to doze off when I heard the TV Click and the glass be set on the table.
The scent of Bourbon and fresh smoke radiated off his pale skin, a smell that scared me when it was my dad, but comforted me when it was him.
I nuzzled my head in the crook of his neck and stared up at him, his hand was tangled in my hair as he sang a Russian lullaby to get me to sleep.
I almost laughed at his kind efforts, I don't know why but it made me want to laugh. I was filled with pure joy being with him.
(But it's Boris Pavlikovsky)
I felt bliss
(Your friend)
It was love
(Your straight friend.)
And suddenly I was numb again.
———
Hello everyone! Sorry this story is weird, but PLEASE leave requests in the comments!!! Or just DM me! I really do read all my comments/messages, so don't hesitate to leave a suggestion- for the time being I will not be doing lemons/smuts. Thank you!! ❤️